Almost Raining
by Light Through The Veins
Summary: The bird began to traverse over the passage, his grip tightening even further... and all the world would slowly fade away, as if it were only a dream; a figment of his imagination, like the feeling that it's almost raining...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Here's a story I wrote late last night for the people at /co/. Decided to put it here as well. Enjoy.

* * *

He tried to go to bed. That didn't work.

He tried to browse the internet. Benson said it was too late.

He tried to think about other things, such as the events that had occurred earlier in the day, but his mind kept on coming back to… him. Where was he?

* * *

He looked up at the clock. Half past midnight. He was beginning to get worried. _'He can fend for himself…'_ he thought, trying to dismiss the anxiety as him just being overprotective. _'But still…'_ He thought back to what had happened earlier in the day, and how he reached this dilemma.

The sun was high in the sky, the trees were rustling, and the grass was wavy in the park that many visited a day. However, the calm and peacefulness would not last for long. In a house in the middle of the park…

"What did you DO with it?"

"ME? I don't even know how it disappeared, dude!"

"What do you mean? You were-"

"What's going on in here? Why are you two yelling so loud?"

The argument between the two figures came to a stop as the gumball machine entered the room. The taller one of the figures, a blue jay, sighed. "Sorry Benson. Rigby's lost something."

"I didn't LOSE it!" The smaller one, the raccoon addressed as Rigby, said. "How do I lose a gigantic mound of stuff?"

"Oh, you mean that pile of junk in the corner of the room?" Benson asked, pointing at the now vacant space.

"Hm!" Rigby said with a nod. "I went out to go grab some lunch, but Mordecai insisted on staying here. And when I came back, he was asleep on the couch, and my stuff was all gone!" He finished, pointing an accusing finger at the bird.

"Dude, I fell asleep right after you left!" Mordecai said, throwing his arms up in defense. "And besides, how would I be able to move all your crap in an hour and a half? You know how much stuff you had up here-"

"Guys, guys, calm down. I know what happened," Benson said. "Sorry, Rigby. Skips moved all your stuff out. We thought it was junk."

"You WHAT?"

"I'll tell Skips to bring it back. He didn't put it with the rest of the garbage just in case. It'll be back here before long."

* * *

He looked at the corner of the room. The pile was still missing.

* * *

Benson left the room and shut the door behind him. This left an awkward silence between the blue jay and raccoon. Rigby emitted something akin to an angry growl and kicked at the space where his pile of old stuff was, crossing his arms.

"Hey dude, don't worry about it," Mordecai said reassuringly. "Benson said he'd get it back."

"I don't care about the stuff!" Rigby responded loudly. "I'm angry that someone invaded my personal space!" Mordecai looked at him oddly for a second, and then let out a small chuckle. "What's so funny?"

"Dude, when have you ever cared about personal space?" The bird asked, rearranging some of the stuff Rigby had knocked down on his side of the room in his tirade earlier. He paused. "Oh wait, I get it; you only care about personal space when YOU'RE the victim!"

"That's not true!" Rigby shouted defensively.

"Oh yeah? How about when you destroyed our room when you were being a baby over the whole punchies thing? Or when you constantly hambone everyone? Or when you just knocked down my stuff; AGAIN?"

Rigby scoffed.

"Dude, it's not a one way street. You have to respect others' privacy if you want others to respect yours."

"I never stole your whole bed away!"

Mordecai thought about this. That was true, as that pile in the corner was where Rigby slept every night… he shook his head.

"Maybe this'll teach you a lesson… oh crap!" Mordecai said, looking at the clock. "I'll be late!" Rigby's ears perked up as he watched the bird run toward the door.

"Late for what?"

"Didn't I tell you?" He asked, opening the door to the hallway. "I'm meeting up with Margaret. We're gonna hang out for awhile."

No. No he had not. Rigby's look of curiosity and interest soon reverted back into a scowl. "So you're just gonna leave me here, dude? After what just happened?"

"Rigby, you have to grow up someday. You can't just keep being a big baby the rest of your life!"

Rigby let out a scream. "I am SICK of you calling me that!"

"See, you're doing it again!"

"Doing what?"

Mordecai sighed. "Never mind… just…"

"Just what?" Rigby asked, tapping his foot and waiting for an answer.

"…Just stop being so damn selfish."

At that moment time seemed to stop. Rigby's gaze hit the floor. Mordecai turned and started to close the door ever so slowly. As he did so, he swore he could hear something soft, a whisper; but he dismissed it as his imagination. Had he not, it could have made all the difference. Things that were about to happen could have been avoided. But the words fell on deaf ears.

"…I hate you."

The door closed.

* * *

It was dark out when Mordecai returned with a smile on his face. The day had gone well. He opened the door whistling, and shut it behind him with a spring in his step. As he began to walk up the stairs however, his smile disappeared. He remembered what had happened earlier, and was dreading to see what Rigby had done to their room. He didn't notice the eerie silence. He didn't realize what was missing. He walked down the hallway at the top of the staircase, squinting. He called out to the silence as he approached his room. "Rigby, I swear, if you messed up anything in my room-" His voice disappeared as he opened the door. He shocked and astonished at what he saw. Everything…

Everything was exactly the way he had left it. The oaken desk next to his bed with small engravings on it, slightly resembling an ornate artifact; the silver alarm clock on top of the desk, with the large hand on the 6 and the small hand on the 10, rusting only slightly as time had weathered it, but at the same time dealt with it quite well; the sheets on his bed, all set and covered as he remembered organizing it in the morning before the rest of the fiasco had happened; it was all the same. There was only one thing missing from the otherwise complete scene; one variable that had not been carried over in the equation.

"…Rigby?"

He looked all over the house, searching through all other rooms; the bathroom, the attic, the closets, everywhere. There was no sign of his companion. After what seemed like eternity, Mordecai gave up and shrugged his shoulders, sitting down on his bed and looking down. "He'll turn up eventually," he told the darkness. "He always does." His eyelids began to close when suddenly they flew wide open. There WAS something different about the room.

He looked down at the trash bin next to his desk. He had just cleaned it out before he left to go out with Margaret. There was now a small, crumpled up wad of paper inside the bin. Without a moment's hesitation, Mordecai leaned down and snatched the paper. He unfolded it and realized that it had words on it. "Rigby." He recognized the sloppy handwriting instantly; words had been crossed out, misspelled, and oddly formed. His eyes dissected the writing, making sure he knew every single detail that the piece of paper discussed. He read the note once. He read it again. And again. And again. The letter fell from his feathery grip.

He realized that he was never meant to have read it.

* * *

A shock of thunder woke the blue jay from his reverie. His eyes went straight to the clock. It read 1 A.M. He looked over at the vacant corner, where the raccoon should have been sleeping on top of his large amassment of useless items. Neither the animal nor the growth were there. He heard the pitter-patter of rain on his window. He looked out as he saw another flash of lightning, accompanied by an even harder downpour of rain. Had anyone been out there, they would be soaked.

'Rigby is not in the house. Rigby would not be anywhere else; he is too much of a slacker to even give the effort of trying to find shelter, even if it is in his most basic instinct of survival. He must be out in the rain.' Mordecai convinced himself that this was fact, and so it was. If he knew all this… 'Why don't I go out there and look for him?' His eyes scanned the darkness of the outside world for any sign of life. 'Is it spite? Is it to teach him a lesson?' No life. Or sign of it, anyway. 'He could be dying out there for all I know… he can't protect himself… ugh, what am I doing?' An even louder clap of thunder, and suddenly-

The lights went dead. Mordecai looked up as all the power in the household went out. He could barely see two inches in front of his face. Accustomed to the layout of the room by now, however, he stumbled through the black abyss and made his way toward the closet by his bed. He felt for the handle, a small indent in the white mock wall that would allow him to pull it out and enter- ah, there it was. He found it, slid the closet door open, got on the ground, and felt for the familiar object. At last, he found the cylindrical item that fanned out at the tip to make for an odd shape. He clicked a button and a bright light emitted from the bulbous end of the flashlight. He squinted as he used the light to guide his way down the stairs. He grabbed a purple umbrella which was hanging on the coat rack, opened it up, and stepped outside into the harsh, stormy cold.

The letter remained on the desk.

* * *

The inclement tempest raged about the dark trundling figure, who held onto both the protection that guaranteed his dryness and his guiding light with all his might, despite the gale threatening to tear them from his tight grip; the darkness was sucking him into the never ending nothingness, his tiny light being the only thing that kept it from overtaking him completely, lest he lose his way and become part of the spatial absence.

"Rigby!" His voice called out against the storm, which answered with yet another roar of thunder, as well as a strong gust which threatened to knock the blue jay off his feet. He kept steadfast. "Rigby, where are you?" He called again. No answer this time. The downpour continued to rain on his umbrella, his only safeguard. 'I need this for when I find Rigby…' he told himself. '…Oh, who am I kidding? This park is enormous! I'm not even sure if he's still here. For all I know, he could be back in the house, and… and…'

His thoughts stopped for a moment as he thought he heard something. It sounded almost like a whisper, like a soft call to him. He shone his light in the direction of where he thought he heard the noise coming from; the light met with the bridge over the river that ran through the middle of the park grounds. Skeptical, the bird began to traverse over the passage, his grip tightening even further, as if he was holding on to the very fabric of time itself, and that if he would let go of either item, be it the umbrella or the flashlight, that he would be letting go of all things he knew, and all the world would slowly fade away, as if it were only a dream; a figment of his imagination, like the feeling that it's almost raining…

As he came across the other side of the bridge, the sound he heard before had dissipated into nothing. He used the flashlight to try and find the source, but to no avail. He continued to brave the harshness of the torment and began to walk once more. After what had seemed like an eternity, and he finally felt as if his legs were about to give out, he saw a familiar sight.

A bench. It was a bench he and Rigby would sit on whenever they were bored and felt like slacking off, but at the same time, not doing anything; it was situated in a lovely place, as to its back were the immense woods of the grounds, where Skips would sometimes retreat to when need be, and Rigby and Mordecai would occasionally hold fake adventures in there - though those times were in the past now - and to its front was a crystalline pond, where all the less-intelligent aquatic species would gather and swim around while the two would sleep, talk, or just do whatever they felt like doing, though it was mainly a meeting place for when they were tired.

No fish today. No Skips. No fake adventures. Instead, alone on the bench, curled up in a pathetic little ball, was a small animal who Mordecai knew too well. The ball was unmoving, its fur drenched to the bone; Lord only knew how long the creature had been out there. That wasn't the only thing that brought a lump to the searcher's throat. The body was bruised, almost as if someone had deliberately hurt this wretched being. Mordecai almost dropped the treasures he had carried for so long as he ran toward his fallen friend.

"R-Rigby!"

* * *

The storm continued to rage as the blue jay kicked the door open, carrying the mass of fur in his arms. He set the purple umbrella down by the old rack where he had found it earlier, and set the flashlight which had helped him so well down next to it. He walked up the stairs and entered the bathroom, setting the poor raccoon down on the toilet cover. He quickly grabbed a bath towel and began to dry off the creature. "Don't worry Rigby…" Mordecai whispered to unhearing ears. "It'll be alright…"

Once he had finished with his task, he scooped the being up and carried him into their room, where he laid him in his bed. He felt the forehead of his friend. Scalding. He rushed out of the room and back into the bathroom. He took a small washcloth and wet it with cool water, so that it may bring down the temperature of his patient's ailment. He came back into the room and placed the cloth on the victim's head. He was about to run off to grab the first aid kit in order to treat the injured raccoon - he knew where the case was, down the hall and by the staircase to the attic (he thanked every being he knew that he had been paying attention when Benson was going over the layout of the house) when he realized that he had forgotten one very important thing.

He bent down close to where the animal's mouth was, and listened… listened for a sound… listened… listened for a sign… listened… listened for… anything…

And there it was. He was breathing. He was alive. Mordecai's look of worry that had been plastered on his face since he had first come back into the room at 10:30 that night, a look that made his stomach churn and think that everything that could possibly go wrong would, disappeared, and was replaced by a soft smile of gratitude and relief. He got up to find the case down the hallway.

He retrieved it and brought it back to the room. He then grabbed a chair from the other side of the room, and began to cleanse what wounds he could. The cuts, scrapes, and bruises were many in number, but thankfully, none were too severe. 'He'll be crying in pain when he gets up, though,' Mordecai thought, trying to make himself do one of his trademark chuckles, or "hmm"s of affirmation, or that sing-song voice he would so often bring out - but he couldn't bring himself to it. He finished bandaging his friend up, and stared at the damaged body before him.

'…Is it my fault? Was I too hard on him? Did I… did I do this…?' These thoughts plagued Mordecai's mind. He sighed as he got up to return the chair to its rightful place when he heard a soft noise from the direction of the bed.

"…Mor..decai…"

Mordecai rushed back to his friend's side. Rigby's eyes were still closed, but his arms were beginning to move slightly, as if trying to reach out for him. "I'm here, dude. I'm here, Rigby." The raccoon struggled to open his eyes, but Mordecai calmly put his feathers on the shoulders of the injured one. "You need to rest…" Rigby was opening his mouth again, trying to emit a sound. At last, he was successful.

"Ah-I…I'm.. sorry…"

That killed Mordecai. "Wait, YOU're sorry? Dude, I'm the one who said all those… I'm the one who…" For one of the first times in his life, he found himself at a complete loss for words. "…I should be the one apologizing." Rigby made another effort to speak.

"N…no. I-I… shouldn't be acting… like a b-baby…"

Mordecai put a feathered hand on Rigby's paws, clasping them tight. "Dude… Rigby… sleep. We'll have plenty of time for arguing in the morning." Rigby let out something akin to a chuckle, and fell silent again. Mordecai became worried again for a second, but that worry subsided as he heard the normal breaths, inhaling and exhaling, of a sleeping friend. He pulled the covers up over the resting raccoon, and looked at him with caring eyes.

"Good night, Rigby."

The letter was in the bin.


	2. Chapter 2

The tall figure, hunched over his seat next to his sleeping friend, tossed the ideas around in his head. Sure, it was late at night - past three AM, no doubt - but there was one question, one lone problem, that he couldn't let go by without solving, and yet at the same time, couldn't bear to find out the answer. He feared that by learning the answer to his question, he may also find out about some terrible dark secret, or an evil being at work… and yet, it may also be something completely meaningless, something that he only thought could be plaguing his mind with horrid thoughts. He shook his head and stopped. _'No,'_ he thought, resolute. _'I'll worry about it once I find the answer._' And yet, he could not get that query out of his head, and it haunted him as he slept in wake.

* * *

_How had he been hurt?_

"_Rigby!"_

_He opened his eyes to find himself chained to a chair, in a nigh pitch black room; the only source of light coming from a bright yellow rectangle far in front of him. The chains were thick and strong, as when he tried to move his arms and legs in order to free himself, he was granted no privilege of freedom. The chair was uncomfortable, and made of some poor wood; he did not like the feel of it, and he wanted to get away. He closed his eyes as he struggled to break free, but relinquished his efforts in seconds. There was no way he could escape. "Rigby!" The voice called out to him again. He opened his eyes._

_He saw the tall silhouette of his friend, black against the bright light of freedom. "Mordecai!" He called out. "Dude, please… help me!" The figure reached out to him, appearing to be pulled toward the light._

"_I'll help you, Rigby!" The figure shouted, straining to reach for the captive in the chair. But the figure was being dragged, the darkness expelling him toward the illumination at his back. The light was growing smaller, and the nothingness was engulfing the raccoon._

"_Mordecai!"_

"_I'll come back for you, Rigby!"_

"_MORDECAI!"_

_

* * *

_

The blue jay was brought out of his ponderings as he looked down to find his friend kicking, squirming, and losing himself in the bed sheets. Rigby was sweating and whimpering, with his arms stretched out in front of him, shaking, as if they were reaching for something and trying to grab a hold of it. Mordecai quickly shook him. "Rigby!" He whispered loudly in his ear. "Rigby!"

The raccoon's eyes opened, and the fit stopped. His dark brown orbs began to focus as he looked over at the one who had freed him from his nightmare. Without a single word, he swiftly moved over and latched onto Mordecai. The taller one could only stay still while he began to hear the soft sobs of his companion over his shoulder. He was unsure of why this was happening; was it because of the nightmare that had been wrecking Rigby? Was it what had happened the day before? Or was it something completely different, perhaps something related to that…

Rigby continued to cry quietly trying to hide his childish instincts. He so desperately wanted to be treated like a grown up; act the way Mordecai would, so that he could see that he wasn't a baby. He realized what he was doing, and let go of the blue jay, awkwardly sitting still with his hand on his opposite arm. "S…sorry." Now Mordecai didn't know what to think. When had Rigby actually apologized for something so trivial? What was going on with him?

"It's okay," he replied, putting a feathered hand on Rigby's shoulder. He then moved his hand onto his forehead. "Your fever's breaking. I think you'll be fine." Rigby relaxed and slid down until he was lying on his back, letting his head hit the pillow while his eyes became fixated on the ceiling. "You were… pretty badly hurt, dude," Mordecai said after a long period of silence. "You wanna tell me what happened?" Silence. "Rigby?"

Rigby continued to gaze upward, recalling the events from the day prior. He remembered what happened after Mordecai had left the room. He remembered what he had done with that piece of paper. He remembered what had occurred after he left the house in that jealous rage, running away from the prison he called a home, going as far as his legs could take him, as if he was going to keep up until he disappeared completely…

"Rigby…?"

He remembered how he had reached the spot where Mordecai and he would always hang out; the cleared area with the bench, the woods, and the pond. He remembered when the dark figure took him by surprise…and… what? He had been… he was…? His mind jumped, and he remembered how he became the mangled mess passed out on that very bench which held so many fond memories for him.

"Rigby!"

The call of his name brought him back to the present, and he shuddered. He drew in a shaky breath, and, in response, shook his head and said, "It wasn't anything… worth mentioning. I wasn't paying attention." Mordecai simply stared at him in disbelief. That wasn't a typical Rigby response. That wasn't something that he'd say; no, he'd blame it on somebody else, or get up and start yelling at Mordecai to mind his own business, or… or…

Mordecai shook his head and sighed. "Whatever you say," he said, getting up from the chair he had been sitting in and making for the doorway. Rigby jolted up in the bed, instantly regretting it as he felt pain from his injuries sear his skin, like it had been lit on fire.

"Mordecai," he called out in pain. The bird stopped and turned, facing the hurt raccoon. "Please… don't leave me." Mordecai smiled and returned to Rigby's side. There was a part of Rigby he knew; the part that wasn't afraid to tell what he wanted. Though the 'please' was new. "Dude, you can't stay up all night," Rigby said. Mordecai chuckled slightly.

"Dude, I think it's a little late for that," he said, looking at the clock which now read half past three in the morning. Rigby groaned.

"And I'm lying in your bed, too… you should just put me on my pile of stuff."

Mordecai chuckled again. "Your stuff's still gone, dude. Think you forgot that. But since you're so stubborn…" He got out of the chair and started to lie down on the bed next to Rigby. "Scoot over."

"Dude, what?"

"You don't want me to stay up all night and I don't want to kick you out of the only bed in this room. And I don't think either of us wants to have to deal with Benson if he finds us asleep on the couch." Rigby sighed in resignation and moved over on the bed, allowing enough room for Mordecai to sleep next to him. Mordecai settled himself underneath the sheets and covers, lying on his back. "Now, was that so hard?"

"No," Rigby scoffed, trying in vain to turn away from Mordecai so that he could lie on his side without inflicting pain on himself. He gave up after a few seconds. The sound of silence pervaded the room as the two remained still in the small and creaky bed. "So," he said, breaking the silence after what had felt like eternity plus a day, "how did things go with Margaret?" Mordecai drew in a deep breath, knowing that this was going to be a touchy subject with the raccoon; and not only because it was one of the reasons of their little fight earlier in the day. "That well, huh?"

"No, it… it was fine."

"Did you ask her yet?" Mordecai turned and gave Rigby a questioning look.

"What?"

"Did you ask her? Ya know?" He mimed putting a ring on his finger. Mordecai blushed, and fumbled with the sheets a bit.

"No. We've only been going out for, like, a few weeks. We're nowhere near that stage yet."

"That's something I don't get about you, Mordecai." The bird exhaled.

"What don't you get, Rigby?"

"You know you love her. You know she loves you. So why don't you just do it?" There he was again; that essence of Rigby that showed him to Mordecai as a child trapped in an adult's body.

"It's not that simple, dude," he replied, shifting his weight so that he was once again lying with his back flat on the mattress. "You'll understand it when you get there." Mordecai understood the meaning of his words, and why he was saying them to his best friend.

"Whatever you say," Rigby said, managing to find a way to lie on his side. He muttered something about the two having nice-looking children before drowsily closing his eyes. Mordecai smiled and pulled the covers on his side closer to his body.

"Goodnight, Rigby."

He thought the raccoon had fallen asleep already, and closed his eyes so that he could too escape to his own dream world. As he was drifting into sleep, he could almost hear his friend next to him.

"Goodnight, Mordecai."


	3. Chapter 3

When he came to, he was alone. He looked beside him; the bed sheets were a mangled mess. His vision beyond that was blurred. He pat his fur, his body, as if making sure he was still alive. He came to the consensus that he was, and left it at that. As he was getting up out of the bed, he remembered something important. He looked into the garbage can nervously. The anxiety soon gave way to a breath of relief, as he saw the familiar piece of paper still crumpled up inside, just the way he left it.

He trudged out of the room, wavering slightly as the wounds were still with him, and made his way toward the bathroom across the narrow hall. While passing through the corridor, he heard voices from downstairs. He thought he could hear Benson and Mordecai, and made out that they were arguing, as the tone of their voices were harsh and booming. '_Not really typical of Mordecai,_' he thought drowsily, continuing on his short path. Before closing the door behind him, he caught a few words that they were saying; "hurt", "off", "better". Still in his waking sleep, he shut the door and trundled toward the shower, cranking the knob which allowed the water to begin heating up.

He scratched his head in irritation, thinking that there had to be something off. Usually he'd take showers in the evening before heading off to bed; why was he doing so now? He shrugged and prepared to step into the water before him. He stopped as he looked down and noticed the bandages covering parts of his body. '_How did these get…_' the raccoon wondered as he began to peel the bloody cloth off his fur. It didn't stick too much, which he was thankful for, and came off quite easily. He discarded the now worthless strips in the trash bin in the corner of the small room, and looked down at the various scars and bruises that adorned him. He stepped fully into the water, and it hit him.

It wasn't so much the immense, searing pain which was brought on by the steaming liquid hitting his open wounds that caused him to almost cry out in complete agony as it was the memories of the previous night that were triggered once he entered the shower. His eyes went blank as he could feel his assailant's brutal fists and kicks on his body again and again. He tried to scream out, but couldn't, as he knew that if he did, his attacker would increase the pain he was experiencing tenfold. He stepped backward and slipped on the wet flooring, falling onto his back. His body cried out further in anguish as the cruel ground made contact with the scars and bruises on his back. He heard the switchblade spring out. His tail curled behind him. He felt the shoves, the fighting, the torment; it all raided his mind at once, never ceasing its relentless assault. He backed into the corner and held his knees tightly, shutting his eyes, wishing the pain and the madness would fade away.

* * *

"Dude, how could you even _say_ something like that?"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this emotional. Hell; he couldn't even recall the last time he _showed emotion_. But this was something serious to him. Something that mattered, and he wanted to make sure it was established.

"Look, all I'm saying is that he's your responsibility," the gumball machine said, finishing the eggs left on his plate from breakfast. The bird confronting him was standing up next to him, gripping the back of an empty chair with his feathered wings tightly.

"I know that! But he's been hurt, and-"

"I'm sure you're just overreacting," Benson interrupted, picking up his now clear plate and walking toward the sink, preparing to wash it off and place it in the adjacent dishwasher. "Rigby's got into trouble plenty times before, but you guys always seem to get out of it alright, even if it's for the worse," he added, muttering the final part. Mordecai's anger erupted suddenly, and he slammed his wings down on the table ferociously.

"This is different!" Benson turned around and looked at the blue jay, a quizzical look on the boss's face. They looked at each other for several moments, the bird's glare seemingly burning a whole into the groundskeeper in front of him. But the power of his gaze subsided, and at last, Mordecai resigned. "Dude, Benson… sorry about that. I just thought he'd need a day off, or something. So he could get better." He sighed and sat down on the chair he had been so fiercely grabbing.

"You've been working pretty hard lately," Benson admitted, resuming the cleaning of his breakfast materials, "for a slacker. You can't let a whole bunch of things get on top of you. You'll bog yourself down." Silence bounced off the walls of the kitchen. The gumball machine finished closing the dishwasher when he broke the quietness. "I don't think you and Rigby should work together anymore." Mordecai stared at Benson, mouth agape.

"…What?"

"You heard me," he continued, his voice stern. "You guys destroy everything you touch whenever you work together, and you know it. With what seems to be going on lately… I think it's for the best."

"But, dude-!"

"No buts, or you're fired." Mordecai gave up, boiling with a mixture of anger and disappointment, and walked out of the room before exploding. He began to march up the stairs.

* * *

The knock on the door saved the small creature from his hallucinations. Shivering on the floor while the warm water continued to pelt his dampened fur, the raccoon looked over at where the door would be behind the shower curtains. "Rigby?" He heard the call from behind the wall. "You okay, dude?"

'_Crap!_' Rigby thought, unable to stop shaking and regain his footing, still tortured by the images in his mind. '_I can't let him see me like… like…_'

"Dude?" The voice called again. He heard the quiet rattle of the knob. "I'm coming in." The rattling grew louder, and he shut his eyes in anticipation of what was to come.

"D-dude, I'm taking a shower in here!" He found his voice, and hoped that the one on the other side of that door didn't notice the slight trembling in it. The rattling stopped. He heard a halfhearted chuckle, and relaxed.

"Alright dude," the voice said. Rigby found that he was able to stand up. Using the slippery wall as support, he was able to get to his feet and begin washing himself. "I just need to talk to you when you get out…" Rigby didn't like the sound of that. It made the hollow feeling inside of himself grow even larger. His mind began to conjure up the possibilities. '_Are we fired? Did he find out about the letter? Are they getting married?_' He let the thoughts run rampant throughout his pained skull as he finished showering.

* * *

The bird stared at the wall opposite him while sitting on his bed. How was he going to tell Rigby what had happened? How would the little guy take the information? He groaned as he leaned his head down and brought his wings up to his eyes, rubbing at them. The stress was eating him alive. And it wasn't just the stress of working at one of the largest parks in the world; it was the stress of keeping everything in check. His life. His best friend. His boss. Margaret. '_Benson was right,_' he thought, '_I'm letting everything get on top of me. This is too much. Anything more and…_' His train of thoughts ceased as he noticed his friend walk in, a white towel wrapped around his head. The scars and bruises were largely noticeable; his torso, back, and arms were badly cut up. Mordecai grimly smiled. "Looks like we're going to have to get you bandaged up again, huh?" Rigby brought himself to let out a small laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so," he replied, unconsciously walking toward where his pile of junk usually was, only to remember that it wasn't there. "How long does it take for them to find a mound of stuff?" He asked, more to himself than to Mordecai. "It can't be _that_ hard to find." The avian chuckled, glad to have his friend somewhat back from depression.

"Well, it's only been a day," he said, patting a spot on the bed. Rigby hopped up onto it, sitting beside his taller companion. "Give it time."

"Whatever," the raccoon said, looking aside. They sat in silence for several moments, lost in their own separate worlds. "You wanted to tell me something?"

"Huh? What?"

Rigby sighed, annoyed at his friend for ignoring him. "When I was in the bathroom, you said you wanted to talk to me. What is it?"

"Oh," Mordecai said, snapping back to reality. He scratched the back of his head nervously. "Uh, yeah. Well… it's about Benson."

Rigby's mind started reeling. '_No, no… we got fired, I got us fired, dammit, what did I do?_' He began to shake in his seat.

"And us. He wants-"

"Dude, I'm sorry!" Rigby blurted out. Mordecai raised an eyebrow at his friend's sudden exclamation.

"Wuh… what?"

"I'm sorry for getting us fired, dude," Rigby said his paws reaching up and grabbing at Mordecai's wing nearest to him. "I'm sorry for being such a huge slacker, and being such a failure, and-"

"Dude, calm down!" Mordecai said, giving Rigby's arms a slight shove so that he would stop gripping his wing. "We're not fired!"

"We…" Rigby began, beginning to calm down. "…We're not?"

"No, dude," he said, smiling at the raccoon next to him. "We're still working here. And you're _definitely_ not a failure."

Rigby let out a breath of relief. "Whew. For a second there, I thought it was something serious."

The jay's smile turned into a frown. "But Benson doesn't want us to work together anymore." The raccoon tensed up again, and looked at Mordecai with sorrowful eyes.

"…Oh." Rigby's sightline dropped to the sheets on the bed. He didn't like that. In fact, he almost liked it less than the prospect of them being fired. At least if they were fired, they'd still be together, like they'd always been. But this… his mind went straight to Margaret. The one that Mordecai admired. The one that Mordecai was infatuated with. The one he knew he loved. For the past week or so, the only times he and Mordecai hung out was during work or sometimes break. The birds had spent so much time together recently that Rigby couldn't take it. He missed his friend. "So… It's still my fault…" He drew his knees close to his chest like he had done several minutes earlier.

"Nah, dude," Mordecai said, patting Rigby on the back. "I screwed up just as badly as you." Rigby shook his head, his eyes clenched tightly shut as a chill ran up his spine.

"No," he said, opening his eyes slowly, looking at the floor that looked so far away from his place on the bed. "You don't know… what it's like…" He shuddered. "I've always been the cause of all our problems… of all the… the…"

Mordecai was beginning to get worried. Rigby was turning back to the way he was the night prior; absent, dreary… different. He rubbed his pal's back, trying to soothe him so that he might regain some of the lost confidence that was once present in the ecstatic raccoon. He still didn't know what had happened that night, but he wanted to find out, for he feared that whatever it was that occurred might have changed the one sitting next to him forevermore. "Rigby, it's not your fault. We'll be fine." The words that came out of the bird's beak seemed to ease Rigby's pain, as the trembling had ceased.

"We'll still hang out though, right?"

"Of course, dude!" He said, taking his wing off Rigby's back. "Breaks, after work, you name it; everything'll be fine." The smaller one let a small smile meet his lips.

"Alright," Rigby said, hopping off the bed. "I trust you." Mordecai got up as well and walked after him.

"We should probably go get you some new bandages now."

* * *

**A/N**: Story will pick up pace in the next chapter, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

Days passed. And while the raccoon's wounds began to subside, his face was still pale and weathered, as if all life had seemingly been sucked out of him. He didn't want to stay that way. But everything seemed to be piling up on top of him… what happened that fateful night was one thing. The lack of a shoulder to lean on was another.

Sure, Mordecai had been supportive and helpful at the beginning. He had let Rigby sleep in his bed, and constantly made sure that he was fine… but as time went on, the blue jay returned to making his daily visits to the Coffee Shop to admire the girl whom he was so infatuated with.

And so Rigby was alone once more.

* * *

He didn't know how long he had been standing in the field, nor did he remember how he got there. He observed his surroundings, noticing the pale blue skies above him, cloudless and vacant of any life. The ground beneath him was plush and vibrant, the green landscape stretching endlessly in all directions. His eyes searched for the point which it would meet the horizon and disappear, but they could not find it. Instead, they chanced upon something in the distance, jutting out of the ground slightly. Curious as to what the object was, he began to scamper toward it on all four legs. In a matter of seconds, he was beside it, and at once knew what it was.

It was a rosebush. Green leaves covered the small shrubbery, but made way for thorns which poked through several crevasses that the foliage did not cover. His gaze lingered on a bright red rose on the top of the bush, shining brightly. No thorn had rested upon this lone flower, and it stood brilliantly without a blemish. With shaking paws, he removed the rose from its resting place, and looked at it intently. He didn't know what was so powerful about it, but something was in that rose which made him treat it with great care and respect. He moved his paws over the blossom, wanting to know and memorize all of its textures, the lightness of it in his hands, and the scent of its wonder.

His peace and serenity was brought to a halt as the skies above him began to shift. Instead of being the calming aqua it had been before, it had made its transition to a murky gray, angry and intimidating. He looked up in fear, and squinted as a powerful gust blew straight through him. He shivered slightly, wanting to rub his arms in order to keep himself warm, but did not due to the rose in his hand. He brought his attention back to it.

It too had changed. Instead of shining a wondrous cardinal, it had become as gray as the sky above it. The petals were wilting in his paws, and began to disperse and disintegrate. He felt the weightlessness of it as it slowly disappeared from his grasp. He kept the dying plant close to his chest, not wanting to let go of it, but for a reason he did not know. He clenched his eyes completely shut, holding the flower tightly. Soon, it vanished altogether.

He opened his eyes to find a fist colliding with his face. He shut his eyes again before the punch made contact. The pain was searing and overwhelming, but only for a moment. It was soon replaced by a numb feeling; one that frightened him. Timidly, he let his eyes open once more so that he could find out where he was.

The alleyway was dark and grimy. Trash cans had been tipped over in various places, and the place smelled of raw sewage. There were three men standing over him, all appearing to be in their twenties. They wore beanies and sweatshirts; one held a crowbar in his hand menacingly, and another, a baseball bat. The one who had punched him cracked his knuckles with a malicious smirk as he pulled back to deliver another blow. He tried to speak out in protest, to tell them that he had no money that they could take, but nothing would come out. Instead, he was punched once more. That numbing sensation returned.

The others soon joined in, whaling on him one after another. He stifled a sob, wanting to stay strong; never before had he encountered something like this, and he was scared. They had been attacking him for so long that he lost track of time, and he was hurt to the point where he could feel next to nothing. As his body was about to give up, he heard a shout, and the attack ceased. His eyes were bloodied to the point that he couldn't open them anymore, but he was thankful that he had been saved.

He heard footsteps approach him. He didn't fear it, though. In fact, it calmed him. He felt a soft material on his shoulder, suddenly lying him down. The softness was all around him now, enveloping him completely. His paws grazed over the one holding him, and at once he knew what it was that had saved him. Feathers.

"Mordecai."

He whispered the name, content with where he was. He felt the wing of his best friend - his _only_ friend - lightly glide over his wounds and injuries. "You're hurt," he heard him say, stating the obvious. "I'll go get some help." The bird moved to leave, but he reached up and grabbed his leg before he could get up.

"No, stay," he said plainly. "I like it here." Suddenly, it didn't smell as bad, and the ground didn't feel rugged. It was serene once more, as if he had returned to that meadow. He enjoyed being with his friend, just the two of them, alone…

He opened his eyes to find a boring ceiling. He looked around the familiar room from Mordecai's bed. Everything was the same as it had been the day before; including his still missing pile of junk. Everything was normal. Everything was regular. With a sigh, he lay down again, letting his head hit the pillow with a soft thud. He shifted his weight so that he was facing the empty spot on the mattress next to him. He stared at it with sad eyes.

"Good morning, Mordecai."

* * *

His paws trembled as he held the phone.

It couldn't be that hard, could it?

No, of course not.

It's easy!

…

With a gulp, he quickly dialed the number and raised it to his ear. The beep was driving him crazy. As he decided that he wasn't going to pick up, and was about to hang up, he heard the receiver on the other end. "Hey-lo?" The voice on the other end asked. He stopped. His voice dried up. "Hello?" It repeated. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

"Hey, Don."

"Rigbone! It's been awhile. How're you doing?"

'_Terrible, if you really want to know_', he thought. He shook his head. "Fine. Look, I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure thing, bro! I have today off anyway, so you can come over! I'll cook something for you!"

"Uh, actually-"

"See you later!" The excited voice disappeared and was replaced by a dull buzz. He set the phone down with a groan. Now he remembered why he didn't talk with his brother that often.

* * *

Rigby had grown up in his younger brother's shadow for all of his life. Don had always been better than him; in school, at jobs, at making friends… Don was living the life that Rigby had only dreamed of. Of course, he didn't envy the responsibility and work that the accountant had to deal with day in and day out; but any sense of accomplishment would mean the world to him. And that was what he lacked.

Rigby had recently repaired his ailing relationship with his brother due to an audit problem with the park. They had cleared the air as to why they had been distant for the many years they had gone without a single word passing between the two. They were proud to call each other brothers; Don himself even looked up to Rigby. Yet still, the smaller raccoon could not help but feel a trifle jealous of all that Don had accomplished in his life. It made him feel so… so…

Insignificant.

However, he needed someone to talk to at that moment in time. Mordecai was out of the question, as he was a cause of the problem. Pops wouldn't understand, and neither would Benson, but for different reasons altogether. He would have gone to Skips, but the yeti was nowhere to be found. There was no place else for him to turn to.

And desperate times called for desperate measures.

* * *

"Hey, Margaret!"

"Oh, hi Mordecai!… No Rigby today?"

"Huh? Oh, no. He's going to see his brother."

"Really? I didn't know he had a brother."

"Yeah, he's a pretty cool dude."

"Sounds nice. To have siblings, I mean. I'm an only child. The regular?"

"Sure."

* * *

He had reached his destination at last. The house stood elegant while overlooking the city. It was perched on top of a nice hill, and had a magnificent view of the park where Rigby and Mordecai worked at. He stared at the white building, its angular architecture reminding the raccoon of his days at their old house. The resemblance was uncanny, to say the least.

He approached the door and knocked three times, stepping back timidly. He was unsure how his brother would look at him, or if he would notice the still visible scars on his fur. But he had made the decision - why, he didn't know - but he knew he had to go through with it once he had reached this point. The door opened.

"Hey, bro! Long time no see! How about you come get some sugar?"

* * *

"…And that's how we broke up."

"Wow. So uh…"

"What?"

"You mean… you're single now?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's what being broken up means."

"Oh. Well, uh… I hope it all… works out for you."

"Thanks, Mordecai."

* * *

The older of the two was never one who cared for tea. As he was almost always hopping up and down and fidgeting from side to side, he much preferred the rush of adrenaline and bold taste that coffee presented to him. His younger brother, on the other hand, liked receiving his daily dose of caffeine through a much more soothing and gentle method. "You sure you don't want any?" The younger, much larger one asked, calling over his shoulder as he heated up a kettle on the stove. Rigby sighed as he sat at the small circular table, looking down.

"Well, maybe just a little," he responded after a short while. Who knew; maybe his taste had changed during all those years since when he had his first cup of tea. And after all, there was nothing wrong with a small change of pace, right?

Don returned to Rigby as he let the kettle heat up. "So," he said, leaning on one of the chairs situated at the table, "what's up? You don't look so good, bro." Rigby continued to look down at his paws, thinking about what he would say. He looked up after several seconds had passed, and stared at his brother with pleading eyes.

"Don, I came because I need to talk."

"I'll always be here to listen, Rigs."

The older brother took a deep intake of air before talking to Don, who had seated himself opposite Rigby. He then proceeded to tell him everything that had happened; everything from the dream he had witnessed the previous night all the way back to what had happened that night Mordecai found him on the park bench.

* * *

"So is there something you wanted to tell me?"

"Huh? Oh, uh…"

"Yeah?"

"Well… you know about the…"

* * *

The kettle began to whistle. Don got up from the table and walked over to the kettle, preparing to pour the tea for the two of them. Rigby sat still, clenching his pawns on his knees. He still couldn't believe that he had just told his brother everything that was going on in his life. It felt to him that, once again, it was being treated as if Don was the older brother.

But Rigby would always feel safe with him. It wasn't something he fully realized or could explain, but he knew that whatever he told Don would always be a secret between them and them alone. His own personal confidant. Don returned with the drinks, and gave a cup to his brother. Rigby muttered a "thank you" and proceeded to blow softly on the liquid, hoping it would help cool it down.

"Do…" Don started. Rigby looked up from his drink. "…Do you know who it was who… did it?" The smaller raccoon shook his head.

"I told you, I was caught by surprise," he said. "I couldn't get a good look at him." Don sighed, leaning back in his chair, one of his hands moving up to grab his forehead.

"I'm so sorry, Rigby…"

"I am too."

Don moved from his spot at the table and walked around so that he was behind Rigby. He embraced his brother from behind the chair, holding him tightly. Normally, Rigby would've resisted and strained. He would have tried to get away as quickly as possible. But for this moment, for this one special time… he was okay with it. In fact, dare he think it, he actually enjoyed it. He leaned back into the chair, letting his brother caress him.

"Does Mordecai know?"

"He knows I was hurt, duh. He's the one who saved me, after all."

"But does he-"

"No." Don's hand moved up and down Rigby's arm soothingly, trying to show all the brotherly affection that he possibly could. "I couldn't let him know."

"Everything'll be fine," Don said reassuringly. "It'll all work out, you'll see." Rigby's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, breaking from his sibling's hug.

" 'It'll all be fine'? Are you serious?" He got up from the chair, stepping back from the man in front of him. "You don't know what it's like!"

"Rigby…"

"You don't know what I'm going through!" He yelled, shaking his head furiously. Don calmly grabbed his own cup of tea and sipped at it. "It sucks! My life sucks! I feel so worthless! It's… it's…!" He stood still, standing in the middle of the kitchen, his arms shaking in a mixture of fury and overwhelming sadness. His brother continued to simply drink his tea, complacent with the taste and inner atmosphere it gave him. Rigby stared at him with furrowed brows.

"Drink some of it," the younger said after awhile. "It'll calm you down." The older brother looked at him, perplexed. Don simply stared back. After awhile, Rigby obliged. And while he still loathed the taste, he had to admit, he felt a little bit better. "Better?" Don asked. Rigby nodded. The larger raccoon smiled. "Good. Now, listen to me, Rigby. You're not worthless. Don't you let anybody ever tell you that." The smaller one let a tiny smile meet his lips, the words encouraging him somewhat. The fact that his brother still had faith in him after all this time made him light up inside.

"Thanks, bro."

"Look, a friend of mine is holding a little get together over at the Coffee Shop tomorrow night. Maybe you and Mordecai should come. You could use a night out, and I know how much you like the place." Rigby shuddered at the thought of going over there with Mordecai. Don noticed this movement. "What? You don't like it anymore?"

"No, it's not that," Rigby said, taking another sip of the - to him - vile drink. "I like it. It's just…"

"Just what?"

Rigby exhaled. "Mordecai's totally in love with one of the waitresses there."

"What's her name?" Don asked.

"Margaret. Why?" Rigby inquired, curious as to why Don would ask that.

"No reason," Don said, continuing to down his tea. He looked at Rigby expectantly.

"I know if I go to this thing, she'll be there… and then he'll totally blow me off and spend all the time hanging out with her."

"So?" Don asked, crossing his legs. Rigby looked at his brother skeptically.

" 'So' what?"

"Well, Mordecai's your friend, right?"

"Yeah."

"Don't you want him to be happy?" Rigby opened his mouth to retort, but closed it before anything came out. He looked down, suddenly overcome with realization.

"I… never thought of that." He continued to stare down. He thought about all the times when Mordecai would want to do something, and he would always ask what he would get out of it. What was in it for him? Upon reflecting, Rigby found out that he had never once done something for Mordecai's benefit without expecting something in return. "Wow. I just realized how pathetic that sounded."

"All you have to do is look at life from a different perspective," Don said. "If you want him to be happy, try letting him hook up with Margaret. And if it doesn't work, then there was no harm, right?" Rigby nodded.

"Alright, I'll go."

"That's the spirit!" Don exclaimed with a wide grin. He began to take another sip of tea when something interrupted him. He set down the cup as he began to cough violently. Rigby looked at him, concerned.

"Bro, you okay?" Don held up a hand as the coughing grew weaker, and finally subsided.

"Yeah," he croaked out, patting his chest with a fist and clearing his throat. "Fine. Just a little bug I have. It should go away soon." Rigby relaxed and smiled softly.

"Whatever you say," he said, finishing off the rest of his tea. Don met his smile with one of his own. "You know, this crap isn't terrible."

And they laughed.

* * *

"So I'll see you then?"

"Yeah, definitely!"

"You'll see if Rigby can come too, right?"

"…Uh, yeah, sure. If he's up to it, I mean."

"Cool. See you!"

Mordecai exited the Coffee Shop with a smile on his face and a frown in his heart.

* * *

"I'll drive you back to the park."

"You sure?" Rigby asked as they stepped outside. Don walked over to open the garage door.

"Of course!" He said with a grunt as he lifted the door open. "It's not like I have anything better to do right now anyway." The two hopped into Don's red Corvette as he started the engine.

"Bro?"

"Yeah, Rigbone?"

"Thanks… for everything."

"Don't mention it, man. Like I said; I'll always be here to listen."

They smiled as Don turned up the radio. And for the first time since he had been brought back to the house by Mordecai on that stormy night, Rigby felt truly happy.

They blasted tunes all the way back.


End file.
